AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE.
All this was grist for Mickey and Fred. The long silence and inaction--so
far as these two were concerned--of the Apaches convinced the fugitives
that some important interruption was going on, and that it could not fail
to operate in the most direct way in their favor. It was well into the
afternoon when the collision occurred between them and the Apaches, and
enough time had already passed to bring the night quite close at hand. An
hour or so more, and darkness would be upon them.
"I don't belave the spalpeens have found put just the precise spot where
we've stowed away," said Mickey, in his cautious undertone, to his
companion, "for I've no evidence that such is the case."
"They may take it into their heads to come into the fissure again, and
then where are we?"
"Right here, every time. We couldn't get a better spot, unless it might be
at the mouth."
"Don't you think we had better go there?" asked the lad, who could not
feel the assurance of his friend.
"I see nothing to be gained by the same, as Tim O'Loony said when some one
told him that honesty was the best policy. If we start to return there,
they'll find out where we are, and begin to roll stones on us. I don't
want to go along, dodging rocks as big as a house, wid an occasional
rifle-shot thrown in, by way of variety."
"Don't you fear they will creep in and try to surprise us?"
"Not before dark, and then we can shift our position."
"Do you believe there is any hope at all for us in the way of getting
out?"
The Irishman was careful not to arouse too strong hopes in the breast of
the lad, and he tried to be guarded in his reply:
"An hour ago I would have sworn if there war a half-dozen of us in here,
there was no show of our getting away wid our top-knots, for the raison
that there is but one hole through which we could sneak, and there's
twenty of 'em sitting round there, and watching for us; but I faal that
there is some ground for hope."
"What reason for your saying there is hope? Isn't it just as hard to get
out the front without being seen?"
"It might be just now; but there's no telling what them ither spalpeens
mane to do arter the sun goes down. S'pose they get Lone Wolf and his men
in such a big fight that they'd have their hands full, what's to hinder
our sneaking out the back-door during the rumpus, hunting up our mustangs,
or somebody else's, and resooming our journey to New Boston, which these
spalpeens were so impertinent as to interrupt a short time since?"
Fred Munson felt that this was about as rose-colored a view as could be
taken, and indeed a great deal rosier than the situation warranted--at
least, in his opinion.
"Mickey, if that isn't counting chickens before they're hatched, I don't
know what is! While you're supposing things, suppose these Indians don't
do all that, where's going to come our chance of creeping out without
their knowing it?"
Mickey scratched his head in his puzzled way, and replied:
"I'm sorry to obsarve that ye persist in axing knotty questions, as I
reproved me landlord for doing in the ould country, when he found me
digging praities in his patch. There's a good many ways in which we may
get a chance to craap out, and I'm bound to say there be a good many more
by which we can't; but the good Lord has been so good to us, that I can't
help belaving He won't let us drop jist yet, though He may think that the
best thing for us both will be to let the varmints come in and scalp us."
There was a good deal of hope in the Irishman, and a certain contagion
marked it, which Fred Munson felt, but he could not entertain as much of
it as did his older and more experienced friend. Still, he was ready to
make any attempt which offered the least chance of flight. He was hungry
and thirsty, and there was no way of supplying the wants, and he dreaded
the night of suffering to be succeeded by the still more tormenting day.
It was very warm in the ravine, where not a stir of air could reach them.
If they suffered themselves to be cooped up there through the night, they
would be certain to continue there during the following day, for it was
not to be expected by the wildest enthusiast that any way of escape
presented itself under the broad sunlight. The following night must find
them more weakened in every respect; for the chewing of leaves, while it
might afford temporary relief, could not be expected to amount to much in
a run of twenty-four hours. Clearly, if anything at all was to be done or
attempted, it should not be deferred beyond the evening, which was now so
close at hand.
But the objection again came up that whatever Mickey and Fred decided on,
hinged upon the action of parties with whom they had nothing to do, and
with whom, as a matter of course, it was impossible to communicate. If the
Kiowas, as they were suspected to be, should choose to draw off and have
nothing further to do with the business, the situation of the fugitives
must become as despairing and hopeless as in the first case.
There perhaps was some reason for the declaration of Mickey that the
strangers (their allies for the time being) were a great deal more likely
to perform their mission before the sun should rise again. Consequently,
the next few hours were likely to settle the question one way or the
other.
"Do you know whether any of the Apaches are still up there?" asked Fred.
"Yes; there be one or two. I've seen 'em since we've been talking, but
they're a good deal more careful of showing their ugly faces. They paap
over now and then, and dodge back agin, before I can get a chance to pop
away."
"Would you try and shoot them if you had the chance?"
"Not just yet, for it would show 'em where we are, and they would be
likely to bother us."
The two carried out this policy of keeping their precise location from the
Indians so long as it was possible, which would have been a very short
time, but for the terror inspired among the Apaches from the shots across
the pass. Mickey had no suspicion that Lone Wolf and his best warriors
were absent on a hunt for the annoying cause of these shots. Had he known
it, he might have been tempted upon a reconnoissance of his own before
sunset, and so it was well, perhaps, that he remained in ignorance.
Within the next hour night descended, and the ravine, excluding the rays
of the moon, became so dark that Mickey believed it safe to venture out of
their niche and approach the pass, into which they had no idea of entering
until the ground had been thoroughly reconnoitered.
"The spalpeens will be listening," whispered Mickey, as they crept out,
"and so ye naadn't indulge in any whistling, or hurrahing, or dancing jigs
on the way to our destination."
Fred appreciated their common peril too well to allow any betrayal through
his remissness. Favored by the darkness, they crept carefully along over
the rocks and boulders, and through the vines and vegetation, until they
were so close that the man halted.
"Do ye mind and kaap as still as a dead man, for we're so close now that
it won't do to go any closer till we know what the spalpeens are doing."
The two occupied this position for some time, during which nothing caught
their ears to betray the presence of men or animals. Feeling the great
value of time, Mickey was on the point of creeping forth, when he became
aware that there was somebody moving near him. The sound was very slight,
but the proof was all the more positive on that account; for it is only by
such means that the professional scout judges of the proceedings of a foe
near him.
His first dread was that the individual was in the rear, having entered
the fissure while they were at the opposite end, and then allowed them to
pass by him. But when the faint rustling caught his ear again there could
be no doubt that it was in front of him.
"One of the spalpeens--and maybe Lone Wolf himself--coming in to larn
about our health," was his conclusion, though the situation was too
critical to allow him to communicate with the lad behind him.
Reaching his hand back, he touched his arm, as a warning for the most
perfect silence.
The boulder against which he was partly resting was no more quiet and
motionless than Fred, who had nerved himself to meet the worst or best
fortune. A few minutes more listening satisfied Mickey that the redskin
was not a dozen feet in front, and that a particularly large boulder,
which was partly revealed by some stray moonlight that made its way
through the limbs and branches, was sheltering the scout. Not only that,
but he became convinced that the Indian was moving around the left side of
the rock, hugging it and keeping so close to the ground that the faintest
shadowy resemblance of a human figure could not be detected.
It was at this juncture that the Irishman determined upon a performance
perfectly characteristic and amusing in its originality. Carefully drawing
his knife from his pocket, he managed to cut a switch, some five or six
feet in length, the end of which was slightly split. He next took one of
his matches, and struck it against the rock, holding and nursing the flame
so far down behind it that not the slightest sign of it could be seen from
the outside. Before the match had cleared itself of the brimstone, Mickey
secured the other end of the stick in his hand. His next proceeding was to
raise this stick, move it around in front, and then suddenly extend it at
arms length. This brought the burning match into the dense shadow
alongside the rock, and directly over the head of the amazed scout. The
Hibernian character of the act was, that while it revealed to him his man,
it also, although in a less degree, betrayed the location of Mickey
himself, whose delighted astonishment may be imagined, when, instead of
discerning a crouching, painted Apache, he recognized the familiar figure
of Sut Simpson, the scout.
"What in thunder are ye driving at?" growled the no less astonished Sut,
as the flame was almost brought against his face. "Do yer take me for a
kag of powder, and do ye want to touch me off?"
"No, but I was thinking that that long, red nose of yourn was so full of
whiskey that it would burn, and I wanted to make sartin."